


Tantrums and Tiaras

by RemyRemedial



Series: The 'Stag Do' Universe [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Domestic Discipline, Domestic Fluff, Family Drama, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-06-29 21:27:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15737670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RemyRemedial/pseuds/RemyRemedial
Summary: When Greg goes out of his way to arrange a romantic surprise for his husband but instead receives a Holmesian tantrum in return. He is not best pleased.





	1. Tantrums

Mycroft cleared one pile of paper work to the side and rested his head in his hands, looking over at the next pile. This wasn’t his usual calibre of work, there were no lives on the line here. Well a few, but they were lives that could do with spending an extra night or two in a cell before he came to their rescue. 

It was the inevitable tonne or two of ‘busy work’ that accompanied any successful mission. If he was honest with himself there were a few rooms of eager young men and women in suits sat waiting for just this kind of work to come their way, the trouble was it was just so much simpler if he did it himself. That way he could be sure there were no mistakes. 

A few years ago, he would have thought nothing of spending a week barricaded from the outside world, ploughing through the lot, but that was before he had a family. Now with every scratch of his pen he could hear Gregory’s voice in his ear, “Are you really choosing this over an evening with us? Charming that is.” Stupid bloody handsome gorgeous Gregory, life was so much easier before he burrowed into Mycroft’s brain and set up home there.

Scratch, scratch ‘Myc?’

Scratch, scratch, scratch, ‘Myc?’

Scrat- 

“Mycroft!”

“Wha?!” Mycroft startled and looked up from his work to see his very real husband stood just inside the closed door of his office, “Gregory?”

“Bloody hell love you were well away with the fairies there.”

“Sorry dear, I wasn’t expecting you.” Mycroft sighed, “If it’s any consolation I was thinking about you,” he stood up from his chair and Greg strode across the room towards him,

“Oh, were you now?” Greg waggled his eyebrows as he leaned over the desk for a kiss,

“Not like that, Gregory, honestly!” post kiss Mycroft batted him away and sat back down in his chair, Greg pulling one up and sitting across the desk from him.

“Long, boring day?”

“You’ve no idea.”

“Well, lucky I came along then, isn’t it?”

“Always.”

“Knight in shining armour, me.”

“Aren’t you just, but I feel you’re leading, Gregory.”

“I’ve had a little word with the lovely Anthea- “

“Gregory- “

“Hush, you. I spoke with Anthea and we’ve come to an arrangement.”

“Oh, have you now?” Mycroft sounded threatening as he tossed his fountain pen onto the desk, but Greg wasn’t perturbed, he was probably the only man on earth impervious to Mycroft’s threats these days.

“Yep, cleared the rest of the day for you, and tomorrow an all. Provided there’s no world ending crisis of course, then they’ll drag you back in but apart from that, you’re all mine.”

“Gregory, how many times must I- “Greg held up a hand to silence him and it worked, not only was he impervious to threats, Greg Lestrade was the only man on earth that could silence Mycroft Holmes without uttering a word.

“You need a break, love, no,” Mycroft opened his mouth to speak and Greg pointed a finger, “Don’t you interrupt me young man.”

Mycroft sighed, “Gregory, really, how many times, the young man thing is nonsense with me, four years hardly makes- “

“Holmes.” Greg threatened, and Mycroft’s mouth snapped shut. “Mm, that’s more like it. As I was saying, you need a break. You did all of the hard work,” Greg gestured to the piles of paper work on the desk, “This lot, can land on the desks of lesser minds than yours.” Greg sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, “You know I’m right.” He raised an eyebrow, daring Mycroft to argue with him. Mycroft was many things but stupid was not on the list, he did not argue.

“Perhaps.”

“Eh,” Greg winked, “Good lad- “

“Gregory!”

Greg ignored him and stood, clapping his hands together, “Right, grab your things love, you’ve pulled- “

“Gregory, really.” Mycroft sighed, standing up and stretching as he did.

“Mycroft Holmes, pulling a sickie, what would the Queen say?”

“It’s hardly ‘pulling a sickie’, eloquent as ever my dear, I’m simply excusing myself earlier than intended.” Mycroft rounded his desk and started to pull on his jacket, before straightening up and allowing his voice to drop to its darkest tone, “And the Queen had better not find our or it’s your bollocks on the block my darling.” Mycroft leaned in and kissed a stunned Greg on the cheek, before suddenly dropping the threat and smiling sweetly, “Come on, dear.” Mycroft made for the door,

“The Ice-man still scares me you know,” Greg mumbled with a shiver,

“Yes, I know.” Mycroft smirked as he strolled out of the office, Greg following in his wake.

Greg wordlessly followed Mycroft through the warren of offices, leading slowly upwards towards daylight. Greg would never do a thing to undermine the persona that Mycroft held up at work. If anything, having the dashing Gregory Lestrade wordlessly trotting along behind him like a love-sick puppy in front of the lowly worker bees only added to the impenetrable fortress of fear that was Mycroft Holmes.

Once they were out of the office, across the pavement and into the back of a blacked-out town car however, Lestrade regained his natural position. He stretched out his legs and draped one arm over the back of the seat. As expected, Mycroft sidled up to him, resting his head on his husbands’ shoulder and allowing him to wrap his arm tightly around him.

“Home?” Mycroft asked, sounding almost sleepy.

“Mm, soon, but not just yet.”

“No?” Mycroft peered up at Greg.

“No, love. I’ve got a surprise first.”

“A good surprise?”

“I certainly hope so. It’ll take a little while in this traffic though, why don’t you close your eyes for a minute.”

“Mm,” Mycroft stifled a yawn, “Good idea.”

Forty minutes later Greg stroked a hand through Mycroft’s hair, “Wakey wakey sleeping beauty.”

“Hm?”

“We’re here.”

“Oh!” Mycroft smiled as he sat up and stretched, Greg held out a hand.

“Come on handsome.” Greg climbed out of the car and helped Mycroft out onto the street. The second Mycroft was out of the car he startled at their surroundings. After that car ride he had expected to be somewhere in the country, or at least somewhere a little quieter. They were suddenly in the middle of a busy London street. His worried eyes snapped towards his husband who smiled reassuringly, “Come on,” Greg pulled lightly on Mycroft’s hand but his husbands’ eyes shot down to where their bodies were joined and quickly yanked his hand out of its hold. “Myc?” Greg looked concerned for a moment before he saw a definite ‘huff’ from Mycroft as he stuffed his hands into his pockets.

“Well? Harrods is it?” Mycroft cast a quick eye up and down the outside of the building. Hardly romantic as he sent an unpaid assistant to pick up his lunch from the same spot every day. “Lovely.” He sneered, striding off in front of Greg past the doormen who knew better than to address Mycroft Holmes when he had a face of thunder. Greg sighed and followed him, quickly passing a crisp note into the hand of one particularly terrified looking doorman. 

Once Greg was inside the doors Mycroft stopped and turned back on his heel, “So? Which department? Lingerie or something equally as tacky, I presume.” Had Mycroft been in his right mind in that moment he would have noticed the vein on the left side of Greg’s forehead pop. Had he noticed that, he would have known that he should step down…immediately. However, he wasn’t in his right mind. He was monumentally pissed off. Who did Gregory think he was? Sweeping him off his feet, trying to turn him into some blushing damsel in distress, on a weekday? In the middle of the bloody day? In the middle of the bloody city he all but kept afloat on his own? In front of thousands of fucking goldfish who didn’t have the mental capacity to understand the dirt under his finger nails let alone the love he held for another man! 

It was with those thoughts racing through his mind that Mycroft turned back in the direction of shopping traffic and took off again, “Third floor, I believe. Or did you think you were the first man to take me to Harrods?” Mycroft spat over his shoulder without bothering to look back.

“Myc.” Greg kept up with Mycroft.

“Of course, I’m probably the first man you’ve pulled this trick on.” Mycroft stepped onto the escalator and Greg hopped on behind him. “Probably can’t count the classless women you’ve brought here though.”

“Mycroft.”

“Oh please, Gregory,” Mycroft elegantly stepped off the escalator and Greg kept up with him, “Do drop the commander in chief act. I’m sure you’ve suitably impressed enough virile young men,” Mycroft waved his hand in the general direction of the pavement outside, “By bringing me here today. Points on the board for Lestrade. But if you think I’ll let me humiliate me any further you’ve got another thing coming.” Mycroft continued to march through the crowds and finally, Greg had had enough, he reached forwards and grabbed Mycroft’s hand.

“Get off!” Mycroft snapped spinning round to face him, “You’re not the boss of me!” he finally shrieked with a stamp of his foot. For the briefest of seconds, the shoppers around them fell silent, a few eyes scanned over the scene, but then as quickly as it had started, the moment had finished, and everyone went back about their business. This was London, and whatever reputation Mycroft Holmes may hold on the international political scene, he was just another man in a suit and that little screaming fit would be thirty-first most interesting thing that the least interesting person in the building would see that day.

As it turned out, Mycroft should have been hoping for a bigger reaction from the public, because the reaction he had earned from his husband did not bode well for him. Greg’s eyes were dark, his jaw set, his nostrils flaring. When he spoke, he didn’t shout or scream, he spoke so low that Mycroft had lean in to hear,

“Are you done?”

Mycroft’s eyes suddenly went wide with the realisation of what he had just done, “Gregory, I am so sor- “

“Are. You. Done?”

Mycroft sucked in his bottom lip and nodded.

“Good. Car, now.” Mycroft nodded again and scurried back in the direction of the exit, Greg close behind. 

As was always to be expected Mycroft’s car was waiting outside, parking restrictions and double red lines meant nothing to his driver’s. He opened the car door and slid across the seat, leaving the door open knowing that Greg was only a pace behind. Sure, enough Greg sat down and shut the door behind him. Without looking over at his husband he leaned forward to the small window and tapped. The window dropped, and Greg spoke to the driver,

“Change of plans, townhouse please mate, quick as you can.” Greg sat back in his seat and the window closed, the car pulled out into the run of traffic and stated to make its way back home. Mycroft waited for Greg to say something, or to just look at him but he did neither,

“Gre-“Greg held up a single finger in Mycroft’s direction, still not looking at him.

“Not a word. Trust me, you want me to calm down before I deal with you.” Greg turned his attention to the window and leaned against it, watching the world outside. Mycroft quietly turned to do the same on the other side of the car.

The car wound its way through the back streets and the wrong way up a couple of one-way streets avoiding any queues of traffic and after what felt like hours to Mycroft, pulled up outside the house. He waited for Greg to make the first move and he did, getting out and leaving the door open he stepped up the front of the car and spoke through the window to the driver.

“That’s you for the night mate, we’ll not be going anywhere else. You were a diamond as always.” Mycroft heard the sound of the window gears turning as it went back up and Greg crouched down to look into the backseat. He clicked his tongue and shook his head in disappointment, seeing Mycroft still on the other side of the car looking very small. He beckoned him with a finger, “Come on you.” And stood back to let Mycroft climb out. Once he had, Greg shut the door and tapped a couple of times on the roof, letting the driver know to pull away, which he did. Greg put a hand on the small of Mycroft’s back, “Come on trouble, let’s get you inside.” His voice was softer now, he sounded more like a disappointed parent than anything else, and he guided Mycroft up the steps to the front door. He opened it for him and stood aside to let him cross the threshold before following him in and shutting the door behind them.

“Right,” Greg started, dropping his keys into the bowl on putting his hands on his hips. He finally got a good look at his husband who was stood, awkwardly, shuffling his weight from one foot to the other and waiting for Greg to say something. “Pyjamas for you,” Greg nodded his head towards the stairs, “Then straight back down, I’ll be in the living room.”

“Gre- “

“No, don’t argue. No more suits, not for twenty-four hours at least. You’re not the Ice-man in this house. Go on.” Greg flicked his hand towards the stairs and waited for Mycroft to comply. He opened his mouth as though he was about to say something, but whatever it was he thought better of it and scurried up the stairs, leaving Greg to make his way into the living room.

Once he was on his own in the living room Greg stripped himself of his own suit jacket. He rolled up his shirt sleeves and toed off his shoes before making himself a drink, scotch on the rocks, and settling down on the sofa.

Soon enough a quiet Mycroft opened and closed the door, walking into the room dressed in a pair of navy blue, monogramed silk pyjamas. To an outsider he would seem overdressed, but Greg knew these to be one of his more casual sets of nightwear. Mycroft walked up to the sofa, standing by the opposing arm to the one Greg was leaning on.

“Right then,” Greg sighed, putting down his glass on the coffee table he turned his full attention to his husband. “Come here,” he held out a hand and Mycroft walked over to stand in front of him, letting Greg take one of his wrists in each hand. “Now, what would you call that little display back there, hm?”

Mycroft fidgeted and made a little whining noise but said nothing else.

“Mycroft?”

Mycroft mumbled something unintelligible and Greg released one of his wrists, just long enough to give him a hard smack on the back of his thigh, “Didn’t catch that, try again.” Mycroft winced and whined a little bit at the smack, before sighing,

“A tantrum.” He mumbled, not looking at Greg.

“Too right.” Greg’s tone harsher than it had been a few moments before by the car, Mycroft was suddenly very aware that he was being ‘told off’ and he didn’t like it one bit. “Now, are tantrums acceptable in this house?”

“We weren’t in the house.” Mycroft grumbled, and Greg sat back, not releasing Mycroft’s wrists but looking up at him in surprise. Mycroft finally looked back at him and Greg wasn’t impressed. “Right, smartarse, you can sit and think for a little while.” For a brief moment Mycroft thought Greg was actually going to let him off, they could sit and watch TV for a little while and get an early night, completely civilised. Then he remembered the monumental wobbler he had just thrown in the middle of a packed department store and came back to reality with a thump. Greg pulled him gently to the side of the sofa, just to the right of where he remained seated. He clicked and pointed to the floor, “Sit,” before pointing to the wall that ran along the back of the sofa, “Eyes on the wall.”

“Gre- “Mycroft’s protest was cut off by another sharp smack to the back of his thigh, with a sigh he relented and sat down.

“We’ll try again when you’ve had a little think.” Greg peered down at Mycroft over the arm of the sofa. He was sat cross legged and was unconsciously pouting at the wall, so that was there Sherlock got it from. Greg picked up the television remote and turned on the news, sitting back to enjoy his drink for a minute.

Greg let a couple of news stories run before he put his glass back down and peered back over the arm of the sofa, “Ready to behave yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Good, come back up.” Mycroft stood and allowed himself to be guided back to stand in front of Greg. “Now then, where were we? Oh yeah, are tantrums allowed in this house, Mycroft Holmes?”

“No.” Mycroft mumbled to the floor.

“No, they’re not. What happens when someone throws a tantrum in this house?”

“Nooo, Gregory.” Mycroft whined pitifully, and Greg clicked his tongue,

“What happens when someone throws a tantrum in this house, Mycroft?”

“…Spanking.”

“Right again. You, Mycroft Holmes are going to get your bum smacked. But since that was no ordinary tantrum, I don’t believe a spanking is quite enough- “

“It is!” Greg held up a warning finger and Mycroft fell silent again.

“Once you’ve had your spanking I’m sending you to bed-“ Greg had to force himself to not smile at the stunned look on Mycroft’s face, “In the morning, you will be writing me some lines-“ Greg held up his hand this time to stop whatever it was Mycroft was about to complain about, when he was sure the protest was stopped before it started he continued, “And I am seriously considering bending you over my knee every night for a bloody week.” It was clear to Mycroft’s tone that Greg wasn’t kidding around, he gulped. “If you want to act up, Myc, that’s fine by me, but don’t expect me not to bring you back down to earth young man.”

Mycroft didn’t respond with anything but a sigh, and Greg thought he might finally be getting through to him. “Right, for now, I’m going to smack your lippy backside then it’s straight to bed with you. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

Mycroft nodded and allowed himself to be arranged across Greg’s lap. Mycroft Holmes had been interrogated by the best (or worst) of them but he had never felt pain quite like a full force hiding from The Brute. It stung like a bloody bitch! By the time it was over Greg had settled for wrapping his right arm around Mycroft’s legs to keep him from shimmying out of his swinging range, using his left arm to smack him instead. Eventually Mycroft gave up wriggling and just started crying into his folded arms. “Alright, alright,” Greg murmured before landing one last full force smack that literally took Mycroft’s breath away. “That’s enough for now.” Greg pulled Mycroft’s pyjamas back up for him and helped him to his feet. “Right, bedtime for you.”

“Really, Gregory, it’s only five! I can’t possibly sleep- “

“Oi! Did I say sleep?”

“No.”

“No, I said bed. And yes, you are bloody well being sent to bed without supper now go, unless you want another round?”

“No sir!” with that Mycroft took off around the corner.


	2. And A Lack of Tiaras.

Mycroft scurried up the stairs, fear on his heels hopeful that he’d make it to the safety of the bedroom without another of Greg’s smacks landing on his arse. He breathed a sigh of relief once he was behind the closed door and looked around the room, trying to work out what he was going to do. Greg had told him to go to bed, he’d been pretty clear about that. There was a part of him that felt very sorry for himself and that really wanted to curl up under the covers. There was another part of him that felt utterly ridiculous for wanting such a thing, the same part of him that was rearranging the furniture to create a small work space, so he could at least pretend to be the great and powerful Mycroft Holmes for a little while longer. The working day (or what goldfish seemed to agree was the working day) hadn’t even finished yet. He couldn’t possibly ‘go to bed’. Just as he was having this internal argument with himself he heard the call from downstairs,

“Arse in bed, Mycroft Holmes…right now!” and he was the one accused of mind reading?!

He trudged over and climbed under the covers, sitting with a straight back against the headboard and his legs out perfectly straight in front of him. It was still uncomfortable to sit, regardless of the high quality of his mattress. He tapped his palms against his thighs and tried to think of something to do. He didn’t have his phone, so he couldn’t call in to work. All of his books were sat, sorted by genre and alphabetised in his magnificent study. It was still light outside. This was horrible. He felt horrible. He had well and truly pissed off the one man in the world whose approval meant something to him. Thinking of the Brute, what had been his game plan? What was his surprise? Now that was all he could think about. The proud look on Greg’s face when he had declared his plan in the back of the town car. He’d spoiled all of Greg’s hard work. Without realising it, Mycroft had slipped down under the covers, he was curled up on his side, his arms wrapped around his legs and his eyes clamped shut.

Mycroft wasn’t sure how much time had passed but what felt like just moments later, there was someone sat next to him on the edge of the bed. That same someone was stroking his back without forcing him from the safety of his duvet shelter. 

“Do you think you could come out of there, love?” Gregory. Sweet, wonderful Gregory. He didn’t sound angry anymore. Mycroft reached up and pulled back the corner of the cover to blink up at his husband. “There you are.” Greg smiled down, fondly. “Now, I know I said no supper. But I’ve brought us up some toast. Do you think you could be brave and sit up for a little while with me, maybe have something to eat?” From anyone else, or to anyone else that would have sounded condescending. But from Greg, it was just what Mycroft wanted to hear. 

“Okay.” Mycroft nodded.

“Good lad.” Greg took his hand from Mycroft’s back and felt him instantly tense up, “I’m just going around to my side of the bed, Myc, so I can lie down with you.” He put his hand back on Mycroft’s back and rubbed a few more times. “By the time you’re out of your little heap I’ll be beside you. Just you see.” Greg’s hand disappeared again, and Mycroft hurried out of his hiding place. Sure enough, by the time Mycroft had emerged, hair mussed and a little out of breath from the heat of his hide away, Greg was lying next to him. “Come ‘ere, you.” Greg held out an arm and Mycroft gratefully curled up into his chest. “If you were upset before I sent you to think, you should have told me love.”

“I wasn’t…before.”

“Oh, I see. Could you try some toast for me?”

“I’m not really hungry.”

“I know you probably don’t feel hungry, but did you have anything for lunch?”

Mycroft opened his mouth to answer but Greg cut him off,

“Before you fib to me, Mycroft Holmes, remember I had a little chat with Anthea.”

Mycroft fell silent for a moment,

“No, I didn’t have any lunch.”

“No, I didn’t think you would. That’s why I had planned a little picnic.”

“Picnic?” Mycroft asked in a small voice as he picked at the buttons of Greg’s shirt.

“Mm, in the security control room. Thought we could have a bit of a laugh with the customers.” Mycroft smiled fondly, that would have been lovely. “I even had bloody chocolate covered strawberries for you. I spent an hour with one of those personal shoppers you like so much, got him to point out all of your favourite foods. Right little spread I had laid out.” Greg chuckled to himself and Mycroft whined at the loss of something he didn’t know he had to lose.

“Was that my surprise?”

“Sort of.”

“What does that mean?”

“There was a little something extra. But if I’m honest it was a bit…soppy. Maybe that wasn’t the time or place.”

“Soppy? Gregory, you know you’ve already asked me to marry you? Some time ago in fact. I know you’re getting old but- Ow! … Sorry.” 

“Better. And, cheeky, being married to Mycroft Holmes is no walk in the park, it’s not something I could easily forget, you know?”

Mycroft chuckled, “Yes dear, I know. Anything else planned?”

“Oh, interested now, are we?” Greg saw Mycroft blush before he hid his face in Greg’s shirt,

“I am sorry.” He mumbled honestly through the cotton.

“I know love, I’m only teasing.” Greg patted Mycroft’s back a couple of times, “Come on out of there, will you?”

Mycroft peered up. 

“That’s better.” He went back to resting his head on Greg’s chest. Greg reached over to the plate on the table by the side of the bed and picked up a triangle of toast, he held it up for Mycroft. “Have a go for me.” Mycroft sighed before taking a bite and leaning back on Greg’s chest, mumbling through his mouthful,

“So, what else was there?”

Greg chuckled and stroked Mycroft’s hair as he held the toast aloft for him to continue eating. “Well, I had a little game planned with one of the doormen.”

“You did?”

“Mm, he was going to stop and frisk me, accuse me of stealing. Thought you’d have a field day with the poor bugger.”

“Oh, that’s brilliant, Gregory!” Mycroft ginned up at him before returning to his spot-on Greg’s chest and taking another bite, “I would have torn him to shreds…”

“I know you would have, that’s why I slipped him a twenty.”

“What…what was the soppy thing?”

“Honestly, Myc, I’m not sure you’ll like it. So if you don’t, just say, I won’t be upset- “

“Gregory!” Mycroft whined, impatiently.

“Oh alright…it’s…” Greg faltered but regained his composure and moved his left hand from Mycroft’s hair and held it in front of his face. “It’s this.” On Greg’s wedding ring finger was a simple gold band.

“Gregory- “

“I know we said we’d wait until we retired but love, it’s been years, I didn’t want to wait any longer! And only god bloody knows when you’ll retire anyway, if you ever do!”

“Oh, hush for a moment!” Mycroft swatted Greg’s chest and sat up a little bit, taking Greg’s hand in his and using his free hand to appraise the small but beautiful piece of jewellery. “Did you get me one?”

“Love, I know I take control at home. I smack your bum and send you to bed when you’re naughty but I’m not going to force you to wear a ring if you don’t want to, I’m not a complete bloody arsehole!”

“No! I mean I…I would like one, if…if you’re offering. I’d pay for it of course I just mean- “

“Shut up for a minute, love.” Mycroft bristled, “No just, sit up and look at me please.” Greg put the toast aside and allowed Mycroft to sit up a little bit, turning to face him.” “Here,” Greg went to take the ring from his finger but stopped, “No, that won’t bloody work. You’ve got lovely skinny fingers and it’s got your name engraved on the inside an all, that’s not very romantic- “Greg was chastising himself, but Mycroft cut in this time,

“It’s engraved!?”

“Well, of course.” Greg furrowed his brow in confusion and slid the ring off his finger, handing it over to Mycroft who squinted to read the inside.

‘Mycroft.’ That was all. No cheesy ‘Love Forever’ or joking ‘Property Of’. Just his name, in a clear, crisp font. As Mycroft was staring at the ring, Greg spoke,

“I’ll have one made for you tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” Was all Mycroft could muster, putting the ring back on Greg’s finger and pulling him in for a kiss.

“Did I get it right?” Greg asked sincerely once the kiss had ended.

“Did you-?! Yes, Gregory, you ‘got it right’.” Mycroft kissed him again and Greg chuckled,

“Glad the personal shopper talked me out of ‘His and Hers’ tiaras now.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“I thought about it.”

“Gregory!”

“What?! I thought they were classy.”

“Oh darling…” Mycroft smiled and tucked his head under Greg’s chin, “Now I know why the personal shoppers always make the decisions for the ‘new money brigade’.”

“Cheek!” Greg smacked Mycroft’s bum making him yelp. “Ah, right then trouble, now that all of the romantic stuff is out of the way. Back to it,”

“Do we have to?”

“Yes, we bloody have to. You’re still in big trouble.”

“Oh but-“

“No, love. No ifs, no buts. You misbehaved today and there will be bloody consequences.”

“Yes dear.”

“Right, now you and me are going to get an early night. I don’t care what you say, you’re shattered. You’re at the end of your tether and I won’t put up with that. That’s not acceptable. So, we’ll get a good night’s sleep, then in the morning we’ll crack on with the rest of your punishment.”

“Oh, ‘we’ will, will ‘we’.” Greg landed another smack to Mycroft’s backside, “Ow! Gregory, really I’m all smacked out for today.”

“I know you are, so stop being so cheeky, will you?”

“Yes dear.”

“Good. You’ve got tomorrow off, it’s just me and my naughty man so we’ll sort all of this mess out. Now, I’m going to brush my teeth and get ready for bed, will you be alright here for a moment?”

“Will you leave the door open?”

“Of course, love.”

“Then yes, I’ll be alright.”

Greg took the plate of toast with him and wandered over to the door, turning on the light in the now dark hallway as he went.

“Gregory?”

“Yes darling?” Greg paused in the doorway, looking back at his husband.

“Are you really going to…to spank me, every night for a week?”

“Yep.”

“But…if I’m on my best behaviour tomorrow, couldn’t we negotiate?”

“Not a chance love. It’s sweet of you to try, but no way.”

“Ohhhh.” Mycroft pouted and collapsed against his pillow.

“I’ll be two minutes, trouble.”

Greg wandered off down the hall and Mycroft got comfortable in the bed, waiting for Greg to return before he allowed himself to close his eyes. 

*************************************************************************************************************************************************

“Good mornin’ gorgeous.” Greg grumbled as he pushed himself up onto this elbow and looked down at his undeniably handsome husband.

“Good morning.” Mycroft yawned himself awake, he felt more rested than he had in a long time and wasn’t best pleased with having been woken from his lovely dreams.

“Time to wake up.” Greg tapped Mycroft’s chest with his fingers as he smiled down at him.

“Ohhh.”

“Oi, no pouting. I’m sending you for a nap later anyway so no complaints.” Greg grumbled.

“A nap?!” That had woken Mycroft up, he sat up, spluttering.

“Yes, a nap. Greg knows best. Now come on, up you get.” Greg swung his legs off the bed and stretched.

Mycroft thought about arguing but thought better of it, instead he marvelled as his husband’s muscular back showed through his t-shirt as he stretched. “Oh, alright.”

“I’m going to cook us some breakfast,”

“Oh,” Mycroft smiled, “That will be lovely.”

Greg stood up and made the bed behind him, “Yep, and you’re going to sit your sorry backside at the kitchen table and write me some lines.”

“Oh, but that’s not fair! I’ve been on my very best behaviour for hours now.”

“Ha! You’ve been asleep love. Even the Holmes boys haven’t learnt to cause trouble in their sleep.”

“Lock has done quite some experimenting in that area.” Mycroft lay back down and Greg rounded the bed, holding out a hand to help his husband up.

“I hope you’re not starting to rate your bad behaviour in relation to your brother, Myc, because if you are you’re going to spend a lot more time either over my knee or in the corner.” He raised an eyebrow and Mycroft relented, taking his hand.

“No dear,” Mycroft sighed, “Of course not.” He allowed himself to be pulled up out of bed and dutifully aside as Greg made the bed before guiding him out of the room.

The two men stumbled down the stairs in to the kitchen, Mycroft still in his pyjamas, Greg in his t-shirt and boxers. Before Mycroft had a chance to sit down, Greg slid a cushion onto the chair and placed a piece of paper in front of him. He handed over the pen with a flourish,

“A biro, really, Gregory?” Mycroft balked at the cheap bit of plastic in his hand, the tip slightly chewed, most probably but either Sherlock or John.

“Trust you to be more upset with the pen than the words.” Greg chucked, 

“What words?” Mycroft looked down, “Oh.”

‘If I throw a tantrum, I will get my bottom smacked.’

“Well that’s just…”

“Embarrassing. Afraid so, but it’s the truth isn’t it love? As many times as you can while I’m cooking, I’ll know if you haven’t tried your hardest so don’t even bother with that nonsense. Best handwriting, if you please.” Greg tapped the table a couple of times and turned away to start cooking.

Mycroft opened his mouth with a smirk, but Greg was ahead of him and span around on his toe to glare, “If you say, ‘and what if I don’t please?’ I will wallop you with my slipper and send you straight back to bed.” Mycroft’s mouth snapped shut and he started writing.

Twenty minutes later Greg placed two, fairly greasy, full English breakfasts on the table.

“Oh you…saint.” Mycroft mumbled.

“Aint I just.” Greg winked and pulled Mycroft’s paper towards him. He didn’t bother to count the lines, but his husband had filled both sides of the sheet, in his very best handwriting. “Well done, love. Brilliant as always” Mycroft blushed, but smiled despite himself and watched on, surprisingly pleased when Greg didn’t bin the paper but neatly folded it and slipped it into one of the kitchen drawers. 

Greg sat down next to him and they ate their breakfast, busily chatting away about nonsense. Every now and then, Mycroft would run his hand over his husbands and linger, running his fingers over the new ring that now lived there.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

For the next few hours Greg wouldn't let Mycroft out of his sight, not that Mycroft particularly wanted Gregory any distance from him. However after they had eaten lunch together, Greg chirped from the sink where he was washing up,

"Right then, nap time for you, love."

"You're not serious." Mycroft peered over the top of the newspaper he was reading.

"I'm completely serious." Greg dried his hands and turned around.

"Gregory, I am not a child, I do not need to...nap."

"I think you'll find, my love, that since I just told you to do it, yes you do have to nap. Go on."

"But-"

"Mycroft Holmes, either get up those stairs and lie down, right now, or I'll smack the back of your legs and stand you in the corner to think. Then send you up for a nap." Greg glared down. "What'll it be?"

Mycroft politely folded his newspaper and put it down on the table, he was taking slightly longer about it than Greg liked so he took one step forwards. Mycroft fled from the room in a whirl of pyjamas and Greg heard him taking the stairs two at a time.

"That's what I thought!" Greg called up after him.

Once in the bedroom, Mycroft conceded that Greg was going to make him nap whether he liked it or not, so he got comfortable in bed and was just about to close his eyes when he heard the familiar sound of his phone ping. He followed the sound of the noise and opened the drawer in his bedside table. Taking out his phone he read the message first,

'Just for emergencies. Family emergencies mind you. No work calls! I'll know.' Mycroft smiled and went to put the phone away when he glanced up at the name in the sender box. 'The boss of me'. Mycroft glared, he threw back the covers and was just about to jump out of bed when the bedroom door opened and Greg was stood calmly in the doorway. 

"Don't you ever forget it, Mycroft Holmes." Mycroft blushed but nodded, who was he to argue, Greg Lestrade was the bloody boss of him and they both knew it, even if Mycroft did have a tendency to forget every now and then. "Now phone away," Mycroft did as he was told, "And close your eyes, it's nap time." Again Mycroft did as he was told, but just as he was expecting to hear the door close, he heard the squeak of the hinges that suggested it was being opened further. "And this door stays open, naughty boy." With that, Greg walked away and Mycroft settled down to rest.


End file.
